Out-of-town Sega. Out-of-everything out here, disconnected.
A full moon, drifting clouds, warm. Two insect chirps. A 20-minute walk from the convenience store I mistakenly left the bus at. Can-beer from a supermarket on the way. You’re supposed to go there by car.
Storage yards for heavy industrial machinery. You’re supposed to go there by bulldozer.
The arcade’s a growth on the side of a bowling alley, or vice versa. There’s a kids’ fishing game for family day-outs. Unused. Young teenagers on the racers. Maybe their parents dropped them there for an evening.
The cranes sleep neatly in the moonlight. How is it that the same site was deemed viable for both a game centre and a tractor yard?
Suburbanites stretch into Sega Kawaguchi from their spacious cul-de-sac homes, edging towards Tokyo centre but stopping short, where they can park.
The cranes dip into the centre just for work. Building it but not really part of it. Hanging over offices, catching UFOs.
The cars come from the outsides and the cranes go on in. The cranes come from the insides and the cars go on out.
Feels like the connection must go deeper than the carpark. It doesn’t.
Photographer and writer covering Tokyo arcade life – the videogames, the metropolis and the people